


The Star of Baikonur Affair

by Tish



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hand Jobs, IN SPACE!, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6290557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When THRUSH launches a deadly satellite, U.N.C.L.E. has to go to the ends of the Earth and beyond to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Join Our Agents on a Mission Already in Progress

Ammo spent, Napoleon darted ahead to scout out an escape route. The cave was dim but an ethereal glow came from some phosphorescent rocks. Illya's face was pale green as Napoleon looked back at his partner picking off their pursuers. More and more THRUSHies were coming after them and the cave had no branches, no nooks or crannies to hide. It was certain death or uncertainty. 

Napoleon turned a corner and gasped, clutching at the rock face. A dislodged stone plunged into the darkness below his feet and he counted the seconds to hear an impact. A distant splash echoed up to him, just as Illya caught up.  
"Take a deep breath," were Napoleon's only words as he grabbed hold and pulled Illya down into the gloom.

Somewhere in the distance, the explosives the U.N.C.L.E. agents had set began to detonate, leaving the underground complex a shattered husk full of death and debris.

Scattered thoughts and images flashed around Napoleon's mind as they fell. The vase of furious red roses in the hotel lobby. A yapping terrier nipping at Illya's heels. Freshly roast coffee served by a tiny doll of a waitress. 

  


The shock of the cold water as they plunged in, sinking deeper, was like a slap to the face. Instinct told Napoleon to swim up, to break the surface and draw much needed air, but Illya's hand reached his arm and pulled him down. The same phosphorescence on the walls played tricks on his mind as he searched for escape.  
A light dimly played above them, followed by a small splash. Napoleon kicked away from the small, oval object he had barely glimpsed break through the surface. He counted the seconds as Illya pulled him over and onto a slanted ledge. A rumbling sound was quickly followed by a plume of water as they pulled themselves onto dry land.  
Napoleon rubbed his eyes and looked around the underwater cave. They were safe and unharmed for now. The sound of a second grenade rumbled through the water, then there was silence.  
  
Illya scanned the cave and kept his voice low. "Well, if we can't find a way out, that handy phosphorescent illumination will cast a cheerful glow over us as we starve to death."  
  
Napoleon gave him a Cheshire Cat smile. "Your ever optimistic outlook is always appreciated, Illya."  
  
"Of course, the light is provided by a radioactive process, so we may also slowly die of radiation sickness." Illya had a gadget from his wristwatch and was busily scanning the area, pausing to wipe away the water dripping from his hair into his eyes.  
  
Napoleon nodded as he crouched down to explore a small tunnel. "There's a breeze coming in. Smells like violets."  
  
"We must be near the southern end of the mountain range." Illya came over and lay flat to look through the tunnel. "It might be a tight fit."  
  
Napoleon sighed and smiled. "I may regret that second profiterole. After you. You can always pull me through."

The tunnel started off fairly easy to navigate, but them it started to turn upwards. Dislodged pebbles from Illya's progress fell on Napoleon's shoulder, dust settling into his hair. He stopped looking up and concentrated on the climb. Sunlight started to fill the shaft and Illya paused to wipe his brow.  
Napoleon blinked into the light, squinting up at Illya's hair blazing yellowy gold.  
  
“It's getting to be a warm day out there.” Illya looked down, shaking his almost dried shirt loose.  
  
“Getting pretty hot in here, too,” Napoleon replied.  
  
Illya started to climb again and made it to the lip of the blow hole, before bending his body over to pivot out of sight for a moment as he climbed out.

Napoleon took a moment to appreciate the view before starting his ascent as Illya looked around for trouble, then lay down to hold out a helping hand.

Napoleon climbed up into the open air and a jaw-dropping beautiful landscape. A lake shimmered in the light, as a riot of flowers spread before them. Nearby, a cliff dropped down to the radiant blue sea. From the rocky outcrops several miles in the distance, dust and smoke rose from the destroyed complex.  
Napoleon shielded his eyes with his hand and took in the view. "You could build a summer house here."

"Yes, but the cellar is a nasty place," Illya replied, biting his lip as his Geiger counter watch ticked over too quickly for his liking. "We should call for evacuation, we'll need decontaminating, too."

"Can we wash off in the lake?" Napoleon asked as Illya handed him the communicator.

Leaning over the bank, Illya held the counter and nodded. "Yes. It's just us and our clothes, not too bad, but enough to be careful. Strip off."

"Sounds good. Open Channel D. Solo here." Napoleon smiled as Illya undressed.

"Go ahead, Napoleon," Lisa's voice came through clear and strong.

"Ah, a welcome voice. We'll need to be picked up, can you triangulate our position, please? Also, we'll need some anti-radiation prophylactics." Napoleon waggled the communicator slightly.

"Just getting the fix now. Anything bad?" Lisa asked.

"Low dosage, we won't be spinning webs with our hands or anything." Napoleon grinned.

"Nevertheless, you do find yourself in some very sticky situations, Napoleon.” Lisa's voice was deadpan, which made Napoleon laugh all the more. She added, “A helicopter will be there in twenty seven minutes."

"Thank you, Lisa." Napoleon turned his attention to undressing and shrugged out of the THRUSH coverall.

 

Wading through the violet and blue flowers, Napoleon reached the lake's edge and stepped in. His yelp made Illya turn.

"Are you hurt?" Illya started to swim towards him.

"Ohhhhh, boy. That is freezing!" Napoleon shook his wet foot in air, then stopped as he saw Illya reach the shallow edge and pause. 

"Yes, it's delightful and very refreshing. Get in." Illya waved him in.

Glowering at Illya, Napoleon waded in with as much dignity as he could muster, shivering as every step covered him in cold water.

"See? Not so bad, excellent, in fact." A grin crept over Illya's face.

Napoleon swam up to him and slapped the water just in front of Illya. "Yes, I'm excellent and very delightful."

"Oh, that's it!" Illya laughed and shoved a wave at Napoleon, drenching him.

 

Shaking the water from his eyes, Napoleon snorted and lunged on top of Illya, pulling him under the water. They wrestled and writhed, then plunged up again, gasping for air. Clinging onto each other, they pressed their bodies together and kissed. As Illya laced his hands around Napoleon’s neck, Napoleon pushed a damp clump of hair away from Illya's forehead and watched Illya's eyes as the glare from the sun faded a little as a cloud scooted in front of it. Napoleon snaked a hand below the water and felt between Illya's thighs.

"Water must be really cold," he said innocently.

Illya glared at him and pulled his arms down, Napoleon with them. Napoleon found himself pinned underwater and decided to play dirty.

Illya yelped and let go, hands reaching below the water to repay him. Napoleon caught him instead and twisted him round, trapping him in a bear hug.

Illya wriggled a bit, then stopped. "We must be over a thermal vent." He pushed his ass closer to Napoleon. "I can tell you're enjoying this."

"You bet I am!" Napoleon planted kisses along the back of Illya's neck as Illya relaxed into the embrace.

 

Napoleon started enjoying things even more as Illya slipped his hand under the water behind him. He didn't play dirty, instead he played an utterly filthy move, sending Napoleon into a quiet frenzy.

"Where did you learn that, and will you teach me how to do it?" Napoleon hissed, in between shuddering breaths.

"You'll have to force me tell you the where, but of course I'll teach you how." Illya dipped his body slightly and added his other hand to increase Napoleon's delight.

 

A little later, as Napoleon and Illya lay kissing in the field of flowers, the helicopter arrived. They gave a wave as it landed and watched as a local U.N.C.L.E. technician got out. He checked them for radiation, gave them a thumbs-up, then handed over two plain coveralls and anti-radiation pills. They boarded the helicopter as he bagged their clothes and equipment.

The pilot turned and handed over a communicator. "Mr. Waverly for you."

Napoleon nodded and said, "Solo here, sir."

Mr. Waverly's voice filled the cockpit. "Mr. Solo, our satellite data shows the launch facility has been completely destroyed. Unfortunately, there was a rocket launched just moments before the charges detonated, so, whilst we appreciate your efforts, they may have been to no avail."

Napoleon's face fell. "No chance to intercept it?"

"I'm afraid not." Waverly replied. "It's now released a deadly satellite which is settled in low Earth orbit. It could easily drop bombs or aim a death ray at any target in its path."

Illya stroked his chin. "Could it be destroyed with an ICBM?"

"Ah, no doubt, but there's the question of a missile system that uses solid rocket fuel being able to gain the required orbit, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly sounded like a disappointed school teacher.

Illya closed his eyes, feeling a little foolish. "Ah, of course."

"I don't suppose we have a giant laser, do we?" Napoleon mused, somewhat lost to the intricacies of rocket science.

"No, nothing like that. However, we do have friends in certain places who can give two dedicated agents a ride." Mr. Waverly answered cryptically.

"A ride? Where?" Napoleon asked, almost dreading the answer.

"To outer space, Mr. Solo," came the reply. "Well, inner space, to be more accurate. There's a space launch due very soon now. Weather and technical difficulties are making things a little difficult, though."

"Wait a moment. Do we know how long the satellite will take to be ready?" Illya asked.

"The data we received indicates it suffered some damage upon launch, it may be permanently damaged, or may just need an electronic kick-start. Either way, it's not something that should be left loitering up there," Waverly answered.

"I guess we'll be packing for a space mission, then." Napoleon mused.

 

Soon, they landed and a local operative handed them their overnight bags, then directed them to the waiting U.N.C.L.E. Gulfstream.

As soon as they settled aboard, Napoleon's communicator beeped.

Mr. Waverly came straight to the point. “Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin. There's been a slight change of plans. U.N.C.L.E. North-east has come to the rescue, so you'll be taking a slight detour.” 

Napoleon returned the look Illya was giving him. “I can hazard a guess as to where this detour will be taking us.”

“Indeed. I hope we will be able to return the favour they'll be doing for us.” Mr. Waverly replied.

“Not so much a favour as pragmatism, if my home country, let alone the entire world, stands in peril.” Illya pointed out, just as the jet took off to soar northwards as the evening started to draw in.


	2. One to Go, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russia to the rescue, but there's a catch, there always is.

As the jet reached cruising altitude, the agents unbuckled their seatbelts and pulled out their new clothes.

“Third new suit this month,” Napoleon wryly noted.

Illya glanced over as he found the right length for his tie. “Somewhere there's an accountant sighing with despair at your expense account.”

Napoleon ran a finger along the edge of the tie, adding with a charming smile, “Blue contrast stripes suit you so well.”

“Are you trying to flirt with me, Napoleon?” Illya walked away and opened a cabinet. “I only ask because I'm starving right now.” He took out a padded satchel and took out a tinfoil box. 

Napoleon knelt on a seat, patting out a rhythm on the padded headrest, “I could eat a horse.” 

“Hmm, we have no horse, just chicken or beef,” Illya held up another box.

“Either.” Napoleon reached for the boxes and set them on a small table, smiling as Illya brought the cutlery and sat down opposite him.

“I hope we get a decent meal before we leave,” Illya prodded at the pale meat, then looked at Napoleon's food. “Two different labels, yet they look identical.”

Napoleon studied the two boxed meals, “I appear to have carrot in mine, yours doesn't.” He carved the meat and tasted it. “Tastes like pork.”

Illya gave a tiny shrug. “It's food, it smells good, so,” he sliced some and tried it. “This may be the horse, ah well, it's actually quite good.”

 

After checking the box of special explosives U.N.C.L.E. had sent, Napoleon found himself gazing out the window into the darkening sky, a blue light winking on and off on the wing punctuating his thoughts.

“It's a big sky up there,” he mused.

“Big and cold, with terrible food,” Illya intoned.

Napoleon shook his head, “I'm sure we'll be up and back before we know it.”

“With a pretty shower of satellite pieces to liven up the sky,” Illya patted the small box as he looked out of the window, eyes twinkling with anticipation.

Napoleon smiled at him and settled back for some sleep.

 

A chime from the cockpit and Illya's hand on his arm woke Napoleon. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked out the window as the plane banked. The floodlit cosmodrome came into view and he drew a breath at the huge expanse of the field. Multiple launch pads stretched into the distance and even from far away, the rocket's sheer size was staggering.

Illya put on his seatbelt and raised an eyebrow, “There's an old Russian proverb. _Either go big, or go home_.”

Napoleon continued to stare out the window as he tightened his seatbelt, and simply shook his head in awe.

 

Upon landing, the welcoming party was a stark contrast. A single car with two people and a driver waited as they disembarked from the jet. The man boarded the jet and spoke with the crew, directing them to a hangar, and it taxied away.

The woman inclined her head in greeting and shook the agents' hands. “I am Galina Medvedeva, I shall be your liaison. Please be sure to stay with me at all times until we are ready.”

Napoleon's smile rivalled the floodlights, “Madame Medvedeva, I'm Napoleon Solo, and this is my colleague Illya Kuryakin. We're very pleased to meet you.”

Medvedeva nodded, “Yes. You are very welcome, Mr. Solo.” She paused and looked at him oddly for a moment, before ushering them to the car. “Please enter.”

Napoleon looked at her quizzically, “Is something wrong?”

“I can't put my finger on it. There may be something that has been overlooked,” Medvedeva replied. “I'm not sure, we shall find out.”

“Ah, well, at least call me Napoleon, then you can look me over all you like.” Napoleon held the door open for her as she got in.

Illya leaned over and whispered, “That was terrible even by your usual terrible standards, Napoleon.”

“You. In.” Napoleon growled softly, subtly patting his ass as he got in the car.

 

Walking through nondescript corridors, groups of workers paused and watched as Illya and Napoleon followed Medvedeva. Some were merely curious, one or two stared with contempt and hostility at Napoleon.

“About as well as I expected,” Napoleon softly murmured.

Illya leaned closer. “They've heard about your superior love-making techniques and are merely jealous.”

Napoleon pursed his lips. “I'll accept that.”

 

Medvedeva stopped at a room and paused, watching Napoleon with an arched eyebrow. “Gentlemen, our first stop.”

Napoleon made a small gesture with his hand for Illya to enter before him, getting a slight smile in return as Illya went ahead. Napoleon walked in and felt the eyes of a medical team appraising him. A discomforting feeling washed over him as they murmured among themselves. Illya caught his glance and gave the slightest tilt of his head as Napoleon adjusted his tie.

 

A woman at the centre of the group strode forward and tapped Illya on the shoulder and pointed to a room behind her. Napoleon bit his lip and made to follow, but was stopped by a curt order.

"Nyet." The doctor launched into a rapid and thickly accented dismissal of him, which Napoleon had difficulty understanding. She pointed at his shoes and then at a height chart on the wall. 

Napoleon slipped his shoes off and stood against it. “You must be this tall to go on this ride, right?”

The mission director had now joined the doctors and held a brief, hushed, and heated exchange. He turned and made a slicing gesture with his hand.

The doctor gave him a withering stare as she said. "Too tall. The suit will not fit."

 

Napoleon frowned and subconsciously ran a finger along his suit lapel before it dawned on him that she meant a space suit. He sighed and murmured in Illya's ear, "I don't suppose they have decent tailors here."

Illya stepped back towards them. "Doctor, wait." Illya's voice was urgent, but polite as ever. "We are a team, we need to go together."

Medvedeva sighed in exasperation, “Damn.”

A chorus of shaking heads ended the argument.

Illya suppressed a sigh and gave a small shrug. "I'll try to manage without you."

Napoleon gave him a little wave as Illya was lead away to the far room, the others following, leaving the room empty except for Solo and Medvedeva.

 

Medvedeva rubbed her temple. “I'm sorry. I knew there was something amiss, Mr. Solo.” She paused, “Ah. Napoleon. We need to maximise efficiency. Everything is as compact as possible, even cosmonauts, and your few extra inches are too much.”

Napoleon grinned. “I've never had any complaints before. But yes, you make your spacesuits for shorter men. I don't suppose I could crouch during the space walk, could I?”

Medvedeva smiled. “No, not unless you are Groucho Marx.”

That image made Napoleon laugh louder than he intended. “I like your sense of humour, Madame Medvedeva.”

“Please call me Galina,” Medvedeva replied. “That's a lot of syllables for an American to manage. You pronounce it well, though, and you even understand Russian, too. I am impressed.”

Napoleon smoothed his tie again. “I'm a keen student of Illya's tongue.”

 

 

Once inside the medical suite, the doctors gathered round and muttered among themselves, seemingly ignoring Illya. He looked around and coughed softly.

One doctor finally looked over at him. "Take your clothes off."

Illya quickly slipped out of his jacket and pants, then worked his tie loose, his shirt quickly followed, and he started to neatly fold his clothes as the doctors held their private conference.

Suddenly, they swarmed over him and poked and prodded at him. He squirmed and shivered slightly as he felt cold metal in his ear canal.

The doctor laughed derisively at him. "I'm sorry, I should have warmed it up first, yes? Be a good boy and you get a lollipop." He finished examining one ear and moved round to check the other, pausing to hold a long strand of Illya's hair, before moving it out of the way. "You need a haircut."

"Is that necessary?" Illya felt his voice rise a little higher than intended.

The senior doctor who had been taking his blood pressure laughed at this. "You have spent too long in the West, Mr. Kuryakin. No, you may keep your hair, but maybe I shall give you a hairbrush to borrow."

"Madam, you are too kind, but no thank you." Illya replied, amping up his usual politeness, then forced himself not to groan as he heard the snap of a rubber glove from behind him. "Oh, brother," he muttered to himself.

 

Twenty minutes later, Illya pulled on a pair of overalls, making sure to secrete his communicator on him as he smoothed his usual clothes, hanging them neatly on a hanger. Then he was ushered into the quarantined crew quarters. 

The three-man cosmonaut crew stood in a semi-circle as he entered.

A tightly muscled and keen-eyed man stepped forward and nodded curtly. "I am Colonel Grigory Senkin, mission commander. This is Doctor Vasily Balasov, and the man you will be replacing, Flight Engineer Valentin Veremeenko."

Illya shook their hands and replied, "I apologise for disrupting your mission. If there were any other way, we would not be in this unfortunate position."

Senkin's philosophical words couldn't hide the annoyance he felt. "Indeed, but here you are. And so we are."

If Veremeenko felt the same way as his commander, he didn't let it show. "Except for me. I wish you luck in your mission, Mr. Kuryakin. I hope to see you when our next mission launches."

"I especially thank you, sir." Illya tried to think how disappointed the young man must feel about being bumped from a mission for which he'd been so intensely preparing these past few months.

Balasov brought over a pile of folders. "You'll be needing these. Please read them thoroughly. They could save your life, or at least your dignity." He chuckled and set the manuals on a table.

Veremeenko picked up his tote bag and saluted his commander. "Sir. Good luck. Farewell for now." He gave a warm smile at Illya and left the quarters.

Balasov held out his hands with a smile. "And so we wait, and it is very late. Good night for now, I shall prepare a little tasty something in the morning to welcome you properly."

Senkin tapped the manuals. "You study those well. Space is not a kindergarten. No hand-holding." He walked away to join Balasov in the small bedroom.

 

Illya flipped through the first folder and got out his communicator. He smiled at the sound of Napoleon's answering voice, so close, but so far away.

"Illya, how is everything?" Napoleon asked warmly, settling into a couch in Galina's office.

"Mmm, the doctors gave me a good working over. I feel like a pin cushion with all the injections they gave me. The mission crew seem to accept me well enough, given the unusual circumstances," Illya softly replied. "Currently I'm studying the intricacies of zero gravity bathroom facilities."

"I'm almost glad I get to stay," Napoleon rejoined. He smiled over at Galina as she locked Napoleon's box of explosives in her safe, then brought some tea over. “Don't fall asleep cramming, you'll get a neck ache, okay?”

“Goodnight, Napoleon,” Illya's voice drifted through the communicator.

 

Galina pointed to a half-open door, “I have a camp bed in there, I shall take the couch. I would invite you home to my cottage, but we shall be up and working again in a few hours anyway, so.”

“Oh, please, you take the bed.” Napoleon patted the couch. “I'll be fine here. But an American secret agent going home with a Russian woman, wouldn't the neighbours gossip?” Napoleon asked.

“Our intelligence agencies can cooperate from time to time, Napoleon.” Galina smiled.

“I thought you were an engineer or something?” Napoleon frowned.

Galina counted off on her fingers. “Yes, flight control, Party liaison, hostess for visiting American spies, I'm multi-talented.”

“Will you be up there soon, too?” Napoleon asked.

“Yes, but you would not hear about it.” Galina tapped her nose.

“Why not? You have parades and ceremonies for returning cosmonauts,” Napoleon pointed out.

“Official ones, yes.” Galina nodded, adding with a sly smile, “You do not have a secret space station, too?”

“A space station? Not that I know of!” Napoleon blinked in surprise.

“Maybe your intelligence agencies don't share their intelligence so much.” Galina smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

 

Napoleon pondered this and lay down on the couch, staring at the cracks in the office ceiling. He felt like a fifth wheel, stuck waiting and worrying. Everything now hinged on Illya succeeding in the mission.


	3. How Ships Are Seen Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon plays DJ, and Illya is up, up, and away!

“Come along, Kuryakin. Open those pretty baby blue eyes, you have a long day ahead of you,” Senkin's voice was mocking, but warm as he walked by from the bathroom.

Illya had actually been awake, visualising the capsule's safety systems. He opened his eyes. “Good morning, sir.”

Senkin gave him a dismissive wave, “Grigory.” He paused and turned at the doorway. “At least you don't need a shave, saves time for study.”

Illya rose and smiled as the aroma of fine coffee and baked goods wafted in, along with Vasily's fine baritone singing a vaguely familiar melody. Illya quickly undressed and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water soak him as it massaged his muscles. He tilted his head from side to side, stretching his neck, trying to find a balance between relaxed and alert.

 

Napoleon had just put on a clean shirt and had his communicator in his hand when it started beeping. “Solo here,” he answered.

Mr. Waverly's voice came through, a note of stress in his tone. “Mr. Solo, we've had an ultimatum from THRUSH. The usual large sum of money in return for not destroying a major city. They've given us a demonstration of their little death toy already.”

Napoleon clenched his jaw. “Is it bad?”

“Oddly enough, they've demolished a clock tower in a small English village,” Waverly replied. “No casualties, fortunately. Our scientists have calculated that the satellite's aiming mechanism is off-beam. Apparently, the actual target was intended to be London's Big Ben.”

“Not that they'd admit to that, correct?” Napoleon drawled.

“Correct. They would no doubt bluster about meaning to confuse and confound us. The ultimate aim of terror tactics.” Waverly answered succinctly.

“Well, it's only a few hours to lift-off, if all goes well, Illya will have the satellite destroyed and THRUSH will have a worthless piece of junk on their hands.” As Napoleon checked his watch, a wave of frustration washed over him. He signed off and thought that now would be a good time for one of Illya's dryly observed philosophical musings.

 

The communicator beeped again and Napoleon smiled at Illya's welcome voice.

“Napoleon, when I get back, remind me to get the stock number of the shower head in this room so I can get one for my apartment.” Illya's voice sounded mellow with pleasure.

“You sound relaxed, savour that feeling. THRUSH has given us a small demonstration of what that space bauble can do. No injuries, but it's enough,” Napoleon answered.

“I hope to give you a wonderful fireworks show, Napoleon.” Illya spoke softly. “We're almost ready to head out. I shall see you soon.”

Napoleon nodded. “Galina will take me out to you later to hand you the little box of tricks.”

 

As Illya joined the crew, he smiled at Vasily. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“If we were an official crew, we would have a big spread with the top officials. But for us, just a working breakfast, no big deal.” Vasily shrugged, then held out a thick pen. “Here, we sign the door now.”

Illya took the pen and added his full name underneath Vasily's, then handed it to Senkin. He signed his name, then drew a rocket with a star-shaped flash of exhaust beneath it, adding the caption, “The Star of Baikonur” before carefully inscribing the launch number and date.

 

In a rather drab, functional canteen, Galina pushed away her empty coffee cup. “We need some fresh air. I shall give you a little tour.”

Napoleon neatly arranged the breakfast plates in a stack as a weary kitchen hand approached with a trolley. He smiled at her and gave her a sincere thank you. Galina added her thanks and stood up, smoothing down her uniform skirt.

“Not so many will do that, Napoleon. They leave their rubbish all a higgledy-piggledy,” Galina said quietly as they walked outside.

“Hmm? Oh, well, it's just a simple thing to do to help make someone's job a little bit easier.” Napoleon blinked in the sunshine. “Beautiful day for it!”

 

They passed a mural of a man and woman reaching up towards a space station and Napoleon stopped to admire it. “I imagine it's a difficult task moving the station to a different orbit.”

Galina shook her head. “It's a beautifully simple concept. Flywheels and gyroscopes transfer energy so the station glides up or down. As soon as your agency sends us the necessary information, we can quickly make the required calculations.”

Napoleon nodded, “I'll get onto that later.”

 

They walked around the grounds as the sunlight danced on the flower beds. Galina paused just before a corner and turned.

Napoleon gazed into the sky. “There's a funny story about how N.A.S.A. has spent millions of dollars and man-hours trying to perfect a pen that writes in zero gravity. Then your boffins go and send up pencils. Amazing.”

Galina's smile disappeared from her face. “That is not funny, Napoleon. Graphite is dangerous in a space environment, it can get into circuitry and cause a short, even a fire. I would not wish a fire in a space capsule on my worst enemy.”

Napoleon looked at her with concern. “I'm sorry about that. Please accept my apologies. Maybe we can continue the tour?”

Napoleon had already taken a few steps around the corner before Galina called out, “No, please come this way.”

Napoleon caught sight of the mural on the wall and stopped. “I take it you didn't want me to see that?”

Galina reluctantly answered, “No. Maybe I would have shown you and Mr. Kuryakin when he returned. But now is not a good time.”

Napoleon took another glance and surmised that October 24th was not a particularly happy date to commemorate. He followed her along the path without further protest.

 

Newly planted saplings fluttered in the slight breeze, beyond them some slightly older trees peered out from their protective sackcloth, and along the avenue taller trees grew strong and firm.

“All the crews plant one. In fifty years, this will be a mighty sight.” Galina adjusted a stake. 

“Maybe a little kid will climb the first one and dream of going into space?” Napoleon smiled.

“Lovers might carve their initials and dream of going up together,” Galina tapped his chest playfully. “America needs to catch up.”

“No argument from me there.” Napoleon grinned.

 

As the bus trundled along to the launch site, Illya stared out the window, lost in thought. Grigory reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. Illya looked over as the two men started to get up. The bus stopped, yet they were nowhere near their destination.

“Come along,” Grigory beckoned as the support technicians gathered round outside.

“Do we walk the rest of the way?” Illya asked as he followed the crew.

“Just a brief stop,” came Grigory's amused reply.

Illya joined Grigory and Vasily as they huddled near the rear tire of the bus, then stared as they started to unpack themselves from their spacesuit layers. He looked at the technicians, standing around chatting idly amongst themselves.

A thought formed in Illya's mind, _“Are they taking the piss out of me?”_

“Jet d'Eau, Geneva,” Vasily laughed as two golden streams hit the tires.

“Niagara Falls.” Grigory intoned gravely.

Illya could only laugh as he fumbled with his own suit, “Manneken Pis!” 

 

Waiting at the launch bay, Napoleon ran a finger along the U.N.C.L.E. explosives, feeling like a man waiting to give his lover a box of chocolates. Illya stepped from the bus and approached him, a smile flickering on his face, before retreating to a neutral expression.

Illya didn't speak as he took the box, just nodding and looking into Napoleon's eyes for a moment.

 

Napoleon paused to take a deep breath before he spoke. “Good luck and be safe.” 

“I will. See you before you know it.” Illya replied.

With that, he stepped into the elevator with the crew and the grille slid shut.

 

Napoleon watched the elevator leave and walked slowly through the throng of support technicians to rejoin Galina.

She pressed a gentle hand to his shoulder and opened the car door for him.

 

High atop the rocket, Illya sat and waited. The gear and supplies were safely stowed and Grigory was reading a checklist, Vasily was consulting a manual. Illya pondered the idea of taking a nap before all hell was due to break loose.

 

At launch control, Napoleon gazed around at the backs of desks, covered with computer panels and dials. Galina brought over a slightly built blond man with a steady gaze and blue eyes full of intelligence.

“Napoleon, this is Lt. Veremeenko, formerly of the flight crew. He wished to say hello.” Galina stood between them. “Valentin, this is Napoleon Solo.”

Veremeenko shook his hand warmly, “I hope and wish your compatriot accomplishes his task with great success, Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon realised he was staring as he returned the handshake. “I can only guess at how you must be feeling at being unceremoniously bumped like this. I'm sorry about that.”

Valentin shook his head. “I go and I do as my superiors wish. I have no ego to bruise and pout about. I will go up soon enough.”

Napoleon was still watching him. “You know, you look astonishingly like Illya did a few years ago.”

Surprised, Valentin put a hand on his hair and laughed nervously. “I do not think my superiors would like it if I looked like he does now.” He looked at the huge clock on the wall. “I beg your pardon, I must take my station. I'm pleased to meet you, and I hope we can talk again later.” He bowed slightly, walked to a panel and sat down to confer with the man sitting next to him.

 

Napoleon smiled at Galina. “Down to business already?” He played one potato, two potato with his fists for a moment and looked around the room, a little at a loss for something to do.

Galina nodded. “Would you like to help with some calculations?” She held up a slide-rule.

“A slipstick? Ah, I was a humanities major, I don't think I'd be much use with that,” Napoleon resisted the urge to play with the slider.

Galina took his arm, and lead him to a table. A record player and a box of albums sat on it. “Very well. Would you like to be in charge of our music?” She patted a clipboard with several handwritten music selections on it. “The crew traditionally selects the music, but if you'd like to choose a little something extra for Mr. Kuryakin, that'll be fine as long as you start the official list on the hour.”

“A DJ? I like that idea. Illya has a box of jazz records under his bed, but I don't think you have any here,” Napoleon said as he flipped through the albums. He took out a cleaning cloth from the box and started to carefully wipe each record. He checked the needle and set a record on the turntable. As the first notes of the First Prelude played, he calculated how many he could play before moving on to the list. 

“This goes out to a special friend who's going on a journey today. Safe travels, Illya,” he murmured to himself.

From her station nearby, Galina smiled to herself as she worked.

 

In the capsule, Senkin took out a small, fluffy toy kitten and tied it to the bottom of the instrument panel. He looked at Illya, “My daughter chose it, it'll tell us when we reach zero gravity.”

“She must be excited about you going into space,” Illya mused.

Senkin shook his head.“Ah, she doesn't know. To her, I'm just away working. I asked her for a good luck charm while I'm away from home.” He kissed his hand and blew it at the mascot.

Illya steeled his resolve, imagining Senkin scooping up his little girl in a big, happy hug. He settled back and listened as the music started. “Bach,” he happily murmured.

 

The clock ticked on and Napoleon changed the player to 45 for the next selection, a single. It was a woman singing a simple ballad. “And to him, the stars gave him tenderness,” made Napoleon look up. At the same time, Illya let his focus slide away and he stared at nothing.

 

Napoleon was grateful for his task, the varying track lengths kept him alert, and before he knew it, he was placing the last album on the turntable. A voice that sounded like it was coming from deep in the ocean filled the room, settling into a fine bass-baritone. Napoleon sat almost stunned as the choir joined in the chorus, lost in the words, he pressed his hands to his mouth and listened intently.

 

As the final notes faded away, Napoleon sat in the silence for a few seconds, only to look up as a large monitor showed the rocket lifting off in a bright flash of light. With no fanfare or countdown, the controller had simply pressed some buttons and they were away.

 

Napoleon quietly crossed to where the senior doctor was sitting. Dr. Komesaroff watched a set of medical telemetry readouts and smiled slightly as he sat by her. She seemed to be in a more conciliatory mood than their first meeting and tapped the last readout, next to Illya's name handwritten on a small piece of card. “He is doing extremely well. He's a very fit young man indeed.”

“He takes very good care of himself,” Napoleon agreed.

The doctor held out her hand, “Irinya Antonova Komesaroff. Make sure he continues to take care of himself.”

He shook it and grinned. “Napoleon Solo. I promise you I shall do everything in my power to do that.”

Komesaroff allowed herself a proper smile. “Good.”

 

As the rocket ascended higher and higher, Illya craned his neck to see out the small observation window. The rockets had separated long ago and the sky was dark. He looked over at the mascot and waited for it to float. Tightly strapped in, he waited for the pull of the Earth to slacken its grip. With nothing to do, the kitten became the most fascinating thing in the world.

It happened just like that. The toy floated a little, then reached the end of the string before gently floating in the other direction. Three sets of eyes delighted in the sight.

 

The clock ticked off the minutes as Komesaroff wrote notes and Napoleon watched the monitor. 

She tapped the screen. “You know, I think he is asleep.”

“I should have packed him a book, or a sandwich,” Napoleon mused.

“Perhaps you can sleep for a while also? There will be absolutely nothing happening until they reach the station,” Komesaroff gently said. “You do look rather tired, if I may say so. I can get someone to take you to the crew quarters, the beds are very comfortable, and we can call you in good time, yes?”

Napoleon nodded. “Thank you.”

 

A very young looking junior officer escorted Napoleon to the crew room and they stood back as two wizened elderly women rolled out a vacuum cleaner and cleaning supplies. Napoleon thanked them, and stood in the doorway as they left. He gently stroked the door where Illya had signed his name, then went inside.

A gentle breeze wafted through the open windows as Napoleon lightly slept, daydreaming about Illya's safe return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A launch playlist:
> 
> Bach  
> Prelude and Fugue #1 in C Major  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KQW2YnCUrE>
> 
> Prelude and Fugue #5 in D Major.  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VhncrmWHVNY>
> 
> Shostakovich - 24 Preludes & Fugues Op.87 No.4 & 5.  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iw6PzoKiomk>
> 
> Nikita Mikhalkov - I walk around Moscow  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DdOuqYItyng>
> 
> Eduard Khil - Boats /How Ships Are Seen Off (1965)  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8zz_uOXkWg>
> 
> Dvorak - Romance for piano and violin Op. 11  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZTeavJ9frA>
> 
> Maya Kristalinskaya – Tenderness  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Q2ljXJr5yE>
> 
> Red Army Chorus feat. Leonid Kharitonov - Song of the Volga Boatmen/Yo, Heave, Ho!  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNb54rwDQJM>
> 
> Bonus song!  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJL4Y3aGPuA>


	4. Star Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya finally gets to the space station, and prepares to complete his mission, but as always, bad things happen,

As a series of indicators lit up green, Senkin gave a satisfied nod. “And we are here.”

A voice came over the radio. “All clear to open hatch.”

Illya watched in wonder as Vasily unbuckled his harness and floated over to open the hatch. A man and two women hovered before them, smiling and waving in greeting. Illya mused that Napoleon was really missing out this time. He followed Grigory's lead and slowly floated out into the space station.

They all formed a semi-circle as Grigory lead the introductions. “This is mission commander Gennardy Andreyevich Petrov, engineer and physicist Tatiana Mikhailovna Tsvetaeva and Doctor Nadia Tsing Sin. This is Illya Nikovitch Kuryakin, a special technician.”

Petrov shook Illya's hand and regarded him skeptically. “Special technician, eh? Perhaps you can help Tsvetaeva fix the air conditioning unit?”

Tsvetaeva groaned. “I apologise for the heat. There have been a few cascading malfunctions. It will be fixed, sir.”

Sin clapped her hands together. “We should not forget our manners.” She turned and took a plate from a bench top behind her. “Welcome to _Zvezdnyy Svet_ ,” she smiled as she offered the bread and salt to the guests.

Illya had been darting glances at the plate since floating in and gratefully took some. “Thank you very much.”

 

As they ate, Petrov checked his watch. “Time for the call.” He kicked off lightly and lead the way to the main workspace. 

Grigory patted Illya on the shoulder and murmured, “We shall see a beautiful sight in a moment.”

They floated along a corridor which opened out into a compact workspace, along one wall a series of windows showed the bright, blue Earth hanging in space before them.

Illya stared in astonishment, scarcely able to believe that everyone who had ever lived and died, everyone he'd ever known, had lived on that one small ball of dirt and water.

 

He felt Grigory's hand on his shoulder again and turned as a large screen flickered into life. On Earth, the mission command team stood facing their monitor. As the director greeted Petrov, Illya looked at the back of the room and saw Napoleon staring back, wearing the biggest grin he'd ever seen on his friend. Illya smiled back and simply nodded once.

Down on Earth, Napoleon felt like he was flying through space. He couldn't stop staring as Illya slowly floated in place. The sight of Illya's hair wafting up as though he were underwater made Napoleon smile even more, and his eyes crinkled with delight. 

Illya watched Napoleon look over at the two women, raising his eyebrows in appreciation. In return, Illya almost imperceptibly shook his head at his friend, smiling again as Napoleon gave the tiniest of shrugs.

Illya turned his full attention to the group as the mission director spoke. “Commander, you and your team will be assisting in a special mission, one so delicate that we could not speak of it until now. Mr. Kuryakin will explain the details. We are sending some calculations which will assist in the station's required manoeuvres.”

Petrov exchanged a worried glance with Senkin, who gave a reassuring nod. Tsvetaeva turned as a monitor started displaying a sequence of numbers and she studied it intently.

 

As the video meeting ended, Illya looked out of the window again, feeling like this was the most surreal day of his life. He cleared his throat and spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, you will be participating in a mission of the utmost importance. The very future of our planet is at stake. Once the station has established a new orbit, I will be performing a space walk to destroy a rogue satellite. Once my mission has been successful, you will be able to complete your scientific mission as normal.”

Tsvetaeva folded her arms. “Well, almost as normal. We are short one mission specialist, unless you are qualified to perform Veremeenko's duties? The three of us already here will soon be leaving, or at least that is the plan. I'm sure you have another surprise up your sleeve, Mr. Kuryakin.”

Illya put on his best apologetic expression, wishing he could borrow some of Napoleon's charm, “I'm so sorry to do this to you.”

Tsvetaeva snorted. “To spend another month or so up here with this terrible view, and these fine people, I will somehow cope.”

Senkin laughed, “Tanya, I shall bake you a cake when we get home.”

* * *

Napoleon stood smiling at the blank monitor for a few moments, until Galina gave him a friendly nudge. He turned his smile to her. “I suppose we wait again.”

“There's lots of waiting during a mission,” she acknowledged, leading the way outside. “Followed by bursts of controlled panic.”

“If that launch was panic, you're all very good at making it seem like a picnic,” Napoleon mused. He looked up at the sky. “I hope the return journey is as smooth.”

* * *

As Vasily and Senkin unpacked their equipment from the module, Sin floated over to start packing the original mission's module, docked at the far end of the station.

 

Illya had found a quiet corner and nodded as she went by. He got out his communicator.

Napoleon quickly replied, “Illya?”

“Hello, Napoleon. We're starting to descend to near to the satellite's orbit. It'll take a little while,” Illya spoke quietly.

“I hope you have a good view,” Napoleon replied.

“I'm almost speechless, the Earth is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Illya looked out the small portal and held up a thumb, then moved it to block out the planet. He moved his thumb and watched the clouds.

“I wish I could be up there with you,” Napoleon was wistful.

“I'm sure there'll be tourist flights soon enough.” Illya mused as the Americas came into view. “There's storms coming over the Caribbean. Looks bad.”

 

As Sin returned to the lab, Tsvetaeva was frowning at an oscilloscope, as a strange hum reverberated quietly in the small space.

“Nadia, the space music is back,” Tsvetaeva tapped the waveform. “This time it's slightly different.

Sin came close and pointed behind her. “Illya has a private radio in his pen. Perhaps it is that?”

Tanya mulled that information over, then pressed a key to print out the waveform. “I don't like RF interference, it makes such a decadent sound.”

“It's like space jazz. I quite like it.” Nadia laughed as she collected some samples to pack.

“Well, I need to get this thermostat stabilised,” Tanya grumbled. “Along with half a mile of repairs.”

Nadia paused at the doorway, “I'll get Illya to help you.”

“Yes, I always wanted an attractive assistant I could order around,” Tsvetaeva replied with a wicked grin.

 

A little while later, Illya was slowly running a circuit probe over a gutted piece of equipment. He glanced up at Tanya. “There's some minor cracking of the board, but that shouldn't cause a problem.”

Tanya patted away some sweat from her brow. “We've had some instrument failures over the past few weeks, but there's been a cluster the past day or two.” She huffed a sigh and straightened. “They'll be fixed. This will be running smoothly in no time at all!”

Illya slipped the board back into its casing and checked the connections. “Well, this is working now.”

“Good work,” Tanya's smile was genuine.

Illya shook his collar. “It is warm, isn't it?” He took a deep breath and blinked a few times.

Tanya opened a box and handed over a water pack. “Oh, you'll soon be paddling in the sea at Sevastopol. It'll be pleasantly warm and you'll have a much nicer drink in your hand.”

Illya smiled slightly. “Oh no, I might have a few days off, then I'll be sent on another mission.” He paused and closed his eyes, leaning back. “Dizzy.”

Tanya gently held him before he could spin upside down. “Damn, space sickness. It usually comes on a little later.”

Illya leaned his head against the wall, softly moaning.

 

She hit the intercom button. “Vasily, Nadia? Some help in the lab, please?”

Petrov floated by and stopped at the doorway. “Get him a bag, Tanya.”

Illya blinked as the commander went on by. “A bag? Oh, _right_.” He stared at the ceiling and tried to breathe evenly, trying to reassure himself as he whispered, “I have to do a space walk. I shall not be sick. I will be fine.”

 

Vasily and Nadia both appeared in the doorway and exchanged worried glances.

Vasily propelled himself across the room. “Ah, you look like you have seen a ghost.”

Illya sucked on the water pack, and shook his head. “I-.” Holding his head, he muttered, “I shouldn't have done that. I'm sure I will be feeling better soon.”

Vasily looked at him sternly. “You cannot go outside like this. We can complete your mission for you.”

“I can't ask you to do that, Vasily.” Illya protested. “It's my responsibility.” He put his hand over his mouth and swallowed saliva.

“Okay. Head and rear end of a bull.” Vasily rummaged around a drawer and took out some clear tape, tearing off a short piece. “This is an old folk remedy. You will feel good as new.”

“There's an old folk remedy for space sickness?” Illya scrunched his face up dubiously.

“Travel sickness, but it's all the same thing. You trust me, don't you? I have a 100% success rate with this.” Vasily reached behind Illya and stuck the tape just behind his ear.

“That's it?” Illya asked.

“That's it,” Vasily nodded reassuringly. Nadia took her cue to nod vigorously in agreement.

Illya felt his nausea subside a little. He smiled at Vasily, “I do feel a bit better already. Thank you, Vasily. Tanya, is there anything else on the repair list I could help you with?”

Tanya held out a clipboard. “Many things, but any on the first page would be preferred.”

 

After a while, Grigory chimed the intercom, “We have some lunch prepared. Turkey, stew, and champagne!”

“All in a plastic packet,” Tanya muttered.

After lunch, Illya found himself looking at the Earth again. Nadia took a camera from the wall and trained it on the Indian Ocean. “There's a tropical cyclone bearing in on East Pakistan. See?”

Illya took the camera and tried to take in the enormity of it. “I doubt they have adequate communications between the islands and the mainland to warn them, do they?”

Nadia shook her head, “Perhaps not. I hope it won't be a terrible disaster when it hits.” She sighed. “Who needs death satellites when we have the natural world? Or Man?”

Illya pondered this and made to hand the camera back.

She waved her hand, “No, take some photos, the reel is almost finished.”

* * *

Groups of two or three people sat around on the grass, eating lunch in the sunshine. Napoleon and Galina strolled across the lawn and sat down in a shaded spot.

Unpacking his sandwich from a paper bag, Napoleon watched a couple discreetly share a kiss. “Are there many couples working here?”

“A few, but most wives will stay home in the city,” Galina replied, adding with an amused air,“Are you looking for the unmarried ladies, perhaps?”

Napoleon did a double-take and coughed slightly.

“I saw you become very animated and interested when you saw Nadia and Tatiana with Illya,” Galina started to shake with laughter.

“I must admit, there are some stunning women here,” Napoleon looked into Galina's eyes. “Sadly that includes the married ones.” He glanced down at the ring on her finger.

Galina followed his gaze. “That is stuck there for life, Napoleon. I'm no longer married if that is what is stopping you.” She replied carefully.

“Hmm, I was wondering about you not going home last night. I thought you must have a very patient husband,” Napoleon replied softly.

“No, I'm as free as a bird,” Galina said, then kissed him briefly and tenderly. “Perhaps we can discuss this later. In private.”

* * *

Illya focussed his binoculars on the satellite as the station settled into its new orbit.

Beside him, Tanya watched through a camera with telephoto lens. “Is that a bird image on it?”

“Yes. A thrush. They're an evil organisation dedicated to overthrowing law and order and promoting chaos,” Illya replied.

“Looks like the centre of mass is parallel to the antenna blade, your charges should be safely able to knock it out of orbit if you plant them against the logo,” Tanya made a flicking motion with her finger. 

 

In the airlock, Senkin greeted Petrov, “Gennardy, help me suit up.”

Petrov lowered the suit he was preparing, “I thought Kuryakin was going?”

“With me, yes,” Senkin replied, motioning for the suit.

Petrov mumbled, “You do not trust him, perhaps?”

“I trust him, very much so,” Senkin shrugged into the suit and turned so Petrov could check the connections.

Illya and Tanya floated in as Senkin was examining a panel. Tanya raised a quizzical eyebrow at Senkin as she pulled out a space suit for Illya. He nodded and mouthed, “Okay,” to her.

Illya handed Senkin the box of explosives as he climbed into the suit and then took them back, placing them in a pouch attached to the suit.

 

Outside, Illya could only hear his own breathing, the Earth filled his vision, and he felt as though he was floating in eternity and infinity. He set his sight on the satellite and he and Senkin set off towards it.

Illya watched Senkin, carefully copying the small kicks he made to propel himself in the right direction. Slowly, they closed in on the satellite and stopped a few feet away form it.

Illya pointed at the satellite, miming his actions. “It may be booby-trapped. I shall let the magnetic charges drop from a short distance away, then we can get back and safely wait for detonation.”

Senkin tapped his helmet near his ear, but held up a thumb to show he understood, then took Illya's guide rope, giving him enough length to just reach the satellite. Illya let himself drift forward, then pushed back to stop himself. He took the box of explosives out and set the timer, then gave the box a nudge. It silently locked onto the skin of the satellite, red display slowly ticking down.

He kicked back slightly and space-swam his way back, suddenly getting smacked in the face by the slack of his guide rope. Senkin was slowly tumbling away, flailing as his own guide rope floated free from the station.

Illya cried out, “Grigory! Can you hear me?” He turned to the station and waved, “Tanya!” 

A chill ran through him as the station's lights shut off, leaving a few small red and green beacon lights near the airlocks. A flash of orange appeared in one window, and Illya thought he saw shadows, but he couldn't be sure from this distance. He turned back to where he'd last seen Grigory and kicked off towards his disappearing form.


	5. The World's Worst Roller Coaster Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse as a saboteur goes on the attack.
> 
> Content note: this chapter has character death, some canon typical violence.

Illya tried to breathe slowly and evenly as he kicked his way through space, trying to keep a fast enough speed, but not too fast to be able stop in time. Obeying the laws of conservation of momentum could end up being painful if he hit the station too fast.

Inside the station, Vasily moaned as he clutched his bleeding head. A ringing sound pulsed in his ears from the blow as he shook his head to try and clear it and figure out what the hell just hit him.

A bright, orange flash reflected in the darkened windows.

“What the-?” Illya said to himself as he turned to see a beam shooting from the THRUSH satellite down to Earth. “Damn you, I should have set a shorter time!”

He turned back around and tried to see Senkin in the darkness, his heart sinking as he realised the cosmonaut was nowhere in sight.

“Grigory!” Illya called out again. Radio silence. “Tanya? Vasily? _Zvezdnyy Svet_ , please answer! If someone can hear me, answer!” He murmured sadly to himself, “I'm sorry, Grigory, but your team mates stand a better chance.” 

 

Backed into a corner and half choked, Tanya rasped out a terrified scream as Nadia lunged forward with the electrical probe. A ball of fire exploded nearby and the air became thick with smoke.

 

As Illya neared the airlock, he tried to check his speed, but hit the door a little too hard. He groaned and grabbed hold of the panel to release the airlock manually. Slowly, the door would up and he swam inside, making sure the door was securely locked. The emergency lighting was on and re-pressurisation seemed to take forever. Once it was safe, he quickly tore his helmet off. 

He looked out of the door's portal and saw Vasily pressed against the closed hatch that led to the main living area, lit up only by the emergency green strip lighting. Illya opened the inner door and quickly floated over to him.

Vasily looked up at him and groaned, as he held his blood-stained head. “Someone hit me, there's fire. Emergency doors are locked. I can't make contact with anyone.”

Illya looked through the portal to the living quarters. “Grigory's line was cut, I couldn't get to him. I can't see anything in there. I'll get you in the module, then I'll go in and get the others.” 

“I think someone sabotaged his suit, they thought you would go out by yourself,” Vasily took a medical kit from the wall as he entered the module dock. “I will be fine, please be careful.”

Illya was about to unlock the hatch to the living quarters when something floated into view. "Petrov's been stabbed in the neck. I think he's dead." 

 

The intercom crackled and Tanya's voice fizzed and broke up as she spoke, “Vasily? If you can hear me, evacuate now! Station integrity is failing. The main section is on fire, get out now before those charges go off.”

Illya's heart leapt with relief, “Are you okay? Where's Nadia?”

The intercom clicked, but there was only a haze of static.

 

Vasily had quickly put on a space suit, and called Illya from the module. “We have to go. It's all downhill from here. Easy.”

Illya floated in and sat in the seat nearest the hatch, then closed it, buckling down as Vasily set the emergency escape commands.

Illya barely felt the module move as the release valves opened, but he could see they were inching slowly away from the station. A light kick-off burn ignited and their speed increased. He stretched to peer out the small window, hoping to see the other module safely disengage, but he couldn't see it. 

Vasily paged through a manual, and casually asked, “That explosion, how soon?”

“Eight minutes,” Illya checked the time.

“Good, we start de-orbit in six,” Vasily answered. “Keep your arms close to your body when we descend, it will be rough.”

“The other module is oriented differently, will that be a problem for them?” Illya asked.

“They can get clear, they just have to take a different path,” Vasily swivelled his hand around to demonstrate.

Illya reached for the radio button. “Did you get a chance to speak with mission control?”

“No, unless Tanya or Nadia did. Do it now,” Vasily prompted.

“Mission control, this is Kuryakin. Initiating emergency escape, over,” Illya released the key and waited. 

A voice responded, “We have your signal. We will track until blackout period. Stand-.” 

As the voice cut out, Illya hit the button again, but he cried out as an electrical arc flashed from it. Everything shut down, then hummed as the system reset itself.

Illya shook his hand in pain as a series of sledgehammer blows rained all around them. The module separation had started. 

The black of the sky outside started to flicker with gold and white as they started to enter the atmosphere.

* * *

In the other module, Nadia held her breath as Tanya edged the craft around with the manual controls. The horror of the past few minutes played over in her mind as she watched the navigation panel. She tried to push it to the back of her mind as she mapped out the manoeuvres they'd need to perform. As long as they could get clear of the station before it disintegrated, and before the satellite exploded, they should be on safe ground soon.

She pressed her fingers to her temples to calm herself, then hit the transmitter button. “Mission control, this is Sin, we are starting emergency escape. We do not know the status of the other crew members.”

Silence, followed by a series of clicks greeted them.

Tanya growled out a series of swearwords. “Did Petrov break everything he could find?”

“Surely he would not sabotage his only escape?” Nadia asked.

“I wonder how many so-called malfunctions he was responsible for? Small things to keep us busy with repairs, out of his way.” Tanya stared at the panel. “Maybe it is not connected, just bad timing. I _should_ have said something to Illya earlier.”

Nadia looked at her with worry, “What? How were you to know Petrov would do this?”

“The space music. It was different than the usual interference we'd had. He had a personal communicator, he must have been speaking to that THRUSH organisation. When you told me Illya had a communicator, I should have put the pieces together, the waveform on the oscilloscope was the same type.” Tanya furrowed her brow as she punched in commands to the panel.

“It has happened, there is no going back and doing it again, we only go on,” Nadia smiled sadly at her.

Tanya nodded, adding, “Thank you for saving me. You're the bravest woman in the world.”

“He was going to kill you, I had to do something. If I am the bravest woman in the world, then you are the bravest woman in space.”

“That is fair,” Tanya replied as plasma burnt white and gold around them. “Hold on, here we go!”

The panels and lighting flickered, then they were plunged into darkness as everything shut down.

* * *

Down on Earth, Napoleon sat and stared at the display, trying to process Illya's message. He felt Galina's grip on his arm and leaned in toward her.

His communicator beeped and he quickly answered it. “Solo here. Illya?”

Mr. Waverly's voice was welcome, but it wasn't the one he'd been hoping for. “Mr. Solo, our readings indicate that the satellite has been destroyed, and the remnants knocked out of orbit. We expect the fragments to plunge into the Indian Ocean, somewhere near Antarctica. Unfortunately, it was able to send a deadly beam beforehand. It hit somewhere in Rome. We're trying to determine the damage it made. Otherwise, excellent work from Mr. Kuryakin, we haven't been able to contact him, though. I take it, you haven't, either.” 

“No, the station has been evacuated. Mr. Kuryakin did manage to send us a message as he was leaving. Last thing we know is he's entered the atmosphere. The Russians are setting up their recovery procedure as we speak,” Napoleon reported.

“Good. Hopefully, he will be reunited with you shortly, Mr. Solo, safe and sound,” Mr. Waverly let some warmth creep into his voice. 

As he signed off, Napoleon sat back and stared at the ceiling, trying to see through it and into the far off distance, to wherever Illya was, to guide him back to safety.

* * *

In their capsule, Vasily stared up and asked, “Do you like roller coaster rides?”

Illya considered the question for a moment, just as a series of sparks arced across the instrument panels. Smoke and flames curled up menacingly as Vasily and Illya tried to beat the fire out.

Senkin's kitten mascot drooped on its string, then fell down as gravity took hold again.

The plasma turned from white to near black as they plummeted to Earth, desperately fighting for their lives.


	6. Falling to Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As everything goes to hell in a handbasket, who lives, who dies, who gets a happy ending?
> 
> Content note: you guessed it, more character death. There's a little bit of porn at the end, too.

Illya had once dreamt he was in a washing machine, he'd been turned and twisted and woke up on the floor, sweaty and entangled in the sheets. His dream was becoming a reality, with a fire and acrid smoke to add to his nightmare.

They had lost track of their descent, and the jolt of the parachutes went almost unnoticed. Illya barely registered that the portal showed murky blue sky instead of white-gold-black plasma, so focussed was he on the fire.

There was a thud, then Vasily's cries of pain as the capsule settled onto the ground.

Illya choked on the smoke as he desperately worked at the emergency release. The door sprang off with a loud bang and he scrambled out, turning to grab Vasily. He winced at Vasily's screams and pulled him out, tumbling to the ground with him. He rolled Vasily over to put out the flames, then scanned the area. They were at the edge of a taiga, with a lake nearby. 

Illya found some strength in him to drag Vasily to the water, then pulled him in. hoping it would soothe the pain. Vasily was strangely silent as Illya cradled him. He gingerly felt for a pulse, but Vasily was staring dead-eyed and lifeless at the sky.

The smell of the smoke mingled with the scent of fir and birch as Illya pushed Vasily's body back onto the shore. He stared at his own burnt hands as the pain broke through, and pushed them into the chilly water. All he wanted to do was close his eyes, but something inside him pulled him up to walk back to the capsule. He looked inside with despair at the burnt out panels, then tried to remember where he'd put his communicator. 

 

He shrugged out of the space suit and clutched at the pen with quiet gratitude, before sinking to his knees.

“Illya?” Napoleon's voice was like a kiss. 

Napoleon listened as he gripped his communicator. He stared at it, willing it to bring Illya's voice to him. At last a muffled sob came through, followed by a shuddering sigh.

“Napoleon, I'm okay. I don't know if the locator is working. I think...” Illya paused, trying to clear his mind.

“We haven't got your signal, but U.N.C.L.E. can triangulate it from our communicators. Hold on, Illya!” Napoleon changed the tuner and quickly spoke. “I need an emergency fix on Illya's signal. Priority One.”

Lisa's voice came back almost immediately, “On it, Napoleon. Locking on. Co-ordinates are being sent over... now!”

Napoleon watched a nearby technician dive at the teletype machine and raise his hand, before picking up a phone to relay the location to the rescue dispatcher.

“They're coming, Illya. Hold tight,” Napoleon's voice was like a warm blanket to Illya.

“I'm cold, Napoleon. Vasily's dead. Senkin's dead. I'm burnt. I think I hit my head during the descent. I feel like I may pass out. Please talk to me,” Illya curled up on the pebbled shore and looked up at the darkening sky. “It'll be night soon, could you just let me hear your voice? Tell me the others made it safely, that a lovely meal is waiting for me.” He paused. “Forgive me, Napoleon. I'm rambling. ”

 

Napoleon made a soft hushing sound. “Illya, just stay still. I don't know about the other capsule, but you're safe. You keep warm and still. I'm going to bring you a delicious supper. How about chicken, with lots of roasted potatoes? A bowl of steamed vegetables on the side. Bread rolls fresh from the oven. A fine wine.”

 

Illya rolled onto his back and watched the stars come out. The stars of the Milky Way stood out in the darkening sky, arcing overhead in a white blaze. He shakily reached out a hand to trace the curve of the galaxy's spiral arm, then let his arm fall to his chest, Napoleon's voice warm and friendly in his ear.

* * *

Nadia wasn't sure what to be more terrified by, the darkness within the capsule, or the demonic red of the plasma burning outside them. Tanya's warning that the descent would be bad was an understatement, they were heading on a ballistic path to the ground and the g-forces built up, pressing them into their seats as they fell. Nadia counted off the seconds to herself, waiting for the plasma show to diminish and reveal the blue sky to them.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the view outside darkened, giving way to a dark sky, not the black infinity of space, but the darkness of a clear night sky. Nadia almost wept with relief, but knew that they still weren't clear of danger.

Beside her, she could hear Tanya hitting something in the dark and one small panel lit up green. The feeling of headlong acceleration to hell changed as the capsule shuddered, then slowed.

“Parachute's deployed!” Tanya cried out. “Yes, damn you, something works in this tin can!” 

Able to move freer in the normal gravity, Nadia felt for the lid of a storage box and found the flashlight, shielding it with her hand as she switched it on. She punched the radio key and waited. It flickered into life, then went dead again.

Tanya leaned forward and said, “Percussive maintenance,” then slammed the side of her fist into the panel. The radio stayed off.

“I hope the retro rockets work, or we will be percussively maintained into the ground,” Nadia muttered gloomily as she strapped the flashlight safely to the wall.

“No, we will land fine. We shall just be eaten by a bear when we climb out,” Tanya laughed darkly.

“Not if the wolves get us first,” Nadia retorted, just as the retro rockets fired.

It was like slamming into a truck at speed, but the capsule settled to the ground safely. The two women looked at each, then unlatched their harnesses to grab each other into a hug, laughing and sobbing with relief and joy.

 

Tanya instinctively flinched back as she set off the hatch's emergency release, the sound of the charges ricocheting around the capsule as the hatch flew off. Cold, fresh air flooded in and Nadia leaned into the breeze.

Tanya pulled herself out and landed unceremoniously on the ground, then shakily sat up against the capsule.

Nadia pulled herself across and looked out, flashlight and map in hand. “Can you see any landmarks?”

“Flat, featureless,” Tanya said, looking around. “There's a small hill behind us, we can see what's behind it when it gets light.” She began to dismantle her suit and Nadia reached over to help.

“We could be in Siberia,” Nadia said.

“Well, _that_ narrows it down,” came the sarcastic reply.

“Or possibly Mongolia. Or China,” Nadia added, tracing a descent path over the map.

Tanya twisted round to stare at her. “Oh, no. If we meet anybody, you talk to them!”

“What?” 

“Your face fits.”

“My fist will fit your face, Comrade Tsvetaeva!” Nadia suddenly laughed at Tanya's alarmed look.

“Look at us, stuck in the middle of nowhere, behaving like toddlers. I apologise, that was uncalled for and very rude of me,” Tanya patted Nadia's arm. “Let's get some blankets out, and see if this radio can be fixed.

Tanya rummaged through the box of electronics, found the component she was looking for, then set to work. 

“Venus is the Morning Star. It looks like the dawn is almost upon us.” Nadia held the flashlight and gazed out the hatch at the rose tint the sky was beginning to turn.

“I hope it rises on a happy scene for Kuryakin and the others,” Tanya replied as the radio crackled to life.

* * *

Napoleon walked with Galina around a pathway, one he recognised from what seemed like an eternity ago, but was just the other day. They walked around the corner and stood before the mural.

Galina clasped one hand in the other and rubbed her thumb against her wedding ring, just standing in silence.

“You husband died that day,” Napoleon softly said.

“Many died that day, trapped within the perimeter. Such power can take us to beauty and knowledge, or to horror and tragedy. I hope your people never have to learn the hard way. Never cut corners,” Galina's voice was strained with sadness and anger.

Napoleon put an arm around her shoulder and they stood together lost in their thoughts.

* * *

The white ceiling was dimpled with old paint. As he gazed up, Illya thought they looked like stars. He slowly blinked and returned his attention to the nurse changing his dressings.

She finished up and collected the tray of discarded bandages, then gave him a friendly smile. “All done.”

“Thank you, Yuliya,” Illya smiled appreciatively as she left.

He looked at his gloved hands and wriggled his fingers slightly, looking up again at the nurse's soft laughter. Napoleon stood holding the door open as she went through, an incandescent smile on his face, a smile which only ramped up more as he looked at Illya.

  


“Napoleon, hello,” Illya sat up straighter as Napoleon came in.

“Greetings, I bring lunch,” Napoleon held up a tray with a covered dish. “How are you feeling?” 

“So much better. It's truly good to see you, my friend,” Illya's eyes shone as he spoke.

“I'm sorry about your companions. I've heard so many wonderful stories about Grigory and Vasily,” Napoleon said as he placed the tray on the movable table over Illya's lap and removed the lid.

“I wish it could have been different, but there is some good news, at least,” Illya replied as he let his eyes roam over the plate.

“Yes, there's some very formidable women in this country,” Napoleon answered, cutting up for chicken for Illya. “You okay with the fork?”

“I can manage,” Illya replied. “I hope to visit with Nadia and Tanya soon,” he paused to eat some of the chicken. “Oh my, taste that!”

Napoleon took the fork and tried a piece, “Mmm, exquisite.”

“It has the perfect amount of garlic in the butter,” Illya tried some of the salad. “Heavenly. It's good to be back.”

“It's good to have you back. I felt so helpless just waiting. I felt helpless the entire damn time you were gone,” Napoleon's eyes clouded over with frustration.

“I'm back now, right? It's okay,” Illya stared into his eyes. 

Napoleon released a heavy breath, “Right.” Napoleon was about to say something else, but the door opened and Mr. Waverly walked in.

  


“Ah, gentlemen, I have some young ladies here to visit with Mr. Kuryakin,” Mr. Waverly beckoned to Galina, Nadia and Tanya as they waited in the doorway. They walked in and stood by the bed as Napoleon fetched a chair.

“I'll get some more chairs,” he muttered, twiddling his fingers.

Galina placed a restraining hand on his arm, “We'll be fine, please let Mr Waverly have the chair. We don't want to interrupt your lunch for too long.”

“Oh dear, I really shouldn't, but perhaps I shall,” Mr. Waverly sat down and rubbed his knee. “That feels better. Oh, yes, some grapes for the convalescent.” He placed a paper bag on the side table and tapped his nose conspiratorially.

Illya averted his eyes shyly as Nadia kissed his cheek. “I'm so glad you two made it safely.”

Tanya gently squeezed his shoulder, “I thought we had a rough ride, but what you went through is unimaginable.”

Mr. Waverly's eyebrows scattered over his forehead like birds building a nest. “Ladies, you both suffered extremely high g forces in a steep trajectory, in total darkness to boot. That's not merely a rough ride.”

Nadia handed Illya a photo album. “We thought you might like this, you took some beautifully composed photographs at the station.”

Illya took the album and slowly paged through it. Shots of Vasily smiling in the middle of a joke, Grigory listening intently, Nadia with a tray of plants, Tanya scowling at a clipboard, several shots of the Earth. The last one was of Illya himself, pensively gazing out the window, hair billowing slightly, with the Earth in the background.

Napoleon sat on the edge of the bed and studied the last one, “I'd love to have that one in my bedroom.”

“Thank you, I very much appreciate this,“ Illya said sincerely. He frowned at a cloud formation in the photo. “That tropical cyclone we were watching, is there any news?”

Mr. Waverly looked up from the photographs, “I believe it was downgraded to a tropical storm. Still gave the area a thrashing, no deaths reported, but it could have been much worse.”

Illya chewed his lip thoughtfully. “The satellite activated shortly before detonation, did it hit anything?”

Napoleon nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. It hit a power grid in Rome. There were some deaths involved. It seemed to be a fairly random target, last dash effort to destroy any target it could. Also, it looks like the space station will be breaking up and entering the atmosphere in a few hours. It should end up in the north polar sea and be a pretty spectacular show for the polar bears.”

Tanya folded her arms. “May I say the fact that a THRUSH agent was able to infiltrate our program is deeply troubling to me, especially since I knew Petrov for many years. He was politicking to get the command position of our team, but I had no inkling he could be capable of this betrayal.” She subconsciously touched the bruising around her throat.

Mr. Waverly nodded. “Indeed, we have very little information about their activities here. Our aim is that U.N.C.L.E. will be able to step up co-operative efforts to stop them from further evil doing.”

Galina nodded her agreement. “We shall offer any assistance we can. I had hoped that the days of holding one's colleagues under deep suspicion were coming to an end.” She sighed and patted the tray. “We should really let you finish lunch, yes? We shall visit again soon.”

“See you soon,” Illya smiled.

Mr. Waverly got up and let Tanya and Nadia hook their arms in his, Galina put an arm around Tanya and turned to wave at Illya and Napoleon as they left.

 

“Alone at last,” Napoleon whispered as he pulled a screen across the room to block the view. “Nice gloves, by the way.”

Illya held out his hands, palms up. “It's a new experimental technique for healing burns. They're treated with a special chemical. I have a paper one of the doctors wrote, it's a fascinating read.” He started to rummage on the bedside table.

Napoleon gently grasped his arm. “Oh, no no no. Food, conversation, dessert.”

Illya grinned and tucked into his food as Napoleon poked at the bag of grapes.

“Hmm, these grapes come in a bottle,” Napoleon laughed as he pulled a half bottle of wine from the bag. He poured Illya's glass of water back in the jug and opened the bottle, pouring a decent amount out.

Illya clicked his tongue in annoyance as Napoleon took a sip. “You have to let it breathe first.”

“Wine doesn't have lungs,” Napoleon pointed out as he poured some into another glass.

“Philistine,” Illya muttered as he shovelled some potato into his mouth.

“Be sure to leave room for dessert,” Napoleon chided, sipping the wine.

“Mmm,” Illya carefully placed his knife and fork on the empty plate, then pushed the tray away.

 

Napoleon set it aside and kissed Illya.

“That's a very nice dessert,” Illya replied.

“You get as many servings as you like, help you get better,” Napoleon said before kissing him again.

Illya moved around slightly and winced a little, moving the sheet from his thighs.

“Everything okay down there?” Napoleon gently asked.

“Slight burns on my thigh,” Illya smoothed the dressing. “Nothing too deep.”

“No other damage to any vital organs?” Napoleon enquired curiously, letting his hand slide along the other thigh.

“No, but perhaps you'd better make sure?” Illya quietly replied with a kiss.

Napoleon pushed Illya's hospital gown aside and carefully examined him. “Looks good, see how this feels?” He grasped Illya's cock and tenderly trailed his fingers along it. Illya responded with a soft moan and a long kiss, leading Napoleon to tighten his grip, pulling a little harder with every stroke. 

Illya hooked an arm around Napoleon’s shoulder and nibbled his ear, “I almost forgot how good you smell,” he hissed, transferring his attention to Napoleon's neck.

Napoleon felt the warmth of Illya's tongue on him and nuzzled against him, still jerking him off. “I taste good, too.”

“Mmhmm, you do,” Illya murmured.

“I wish we had our own private rocket, we could go at it in zero g,” Napoleon dipped down and added his mouth to what his fingers were doing.

“No. Very messy, you don't want a random ball of ejaculate splattering in your face,” Illya stroked a free strand of hair along Napoleon's head.

Napoleon paused and looked up. “Speak for yourself. I'd just have to make sure I swallow, then.”

“Then you'd better swallow,” Illya's breathing was getting heavier and erratic as Napoleon put his talented tongue to good use.

Napoleon ran his tongue along Illya's cock before swallowing him whole as he mumbled something.

“Wh-what?” Illya tried to keep his voice even.

“I said,” Napoleon laughed, then mumbled something indistinct around Illya's cock.

“Stop that,” Illya laughed, so close to coming.

“Stop what?” Napoleon mumbled again, mouth suddenly full with something that most certainly wasn't garlic butter.

* * *

One early morning a few weeks later, Napoleon walked through the basement gym of U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters, heading towards where the computer had pinged Illya's badge location. He opened the door to the swimming pool and peered inside. The main overhead lights were off, and just a dim, blue set of lights ran along the lower part of the wall.

He listened as the water rippled softly in the darkness,

“Illya?” Napoleon asked softly, his voice echoing around the room.

“Napoleon,” Illya's voice echoed back. “Come on in, please.”

Napoleon smiled and quickly went to the locker room to change.

 

A few minutes later, Illya felt Napoleon's body close behind him.

“I dream about it. This is the closest to capturing that feeling again,” Illya softly said.

Silently, Napoleon moved right behind him and put his arm around Illya's waist. Illya settled his head back against Napoleon's shoulder and closed his eyes.

Napoleon held onto his friend and listened to him breathe. Floating with Illya wasn't the same as floating in space, but he wouldn't swap this feeling for the world, this moment together in the dim blue water in peace, love, and silence.


End file.
